


shepherd

by More_night



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, M/M, helpful animal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 02:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18240872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/More_night/pseuds/More_night
Summary: Neptune has always been fond of James. Fitzier. Canon compliant.





	shepherd

 

The carnival fire has destroyed most of their canvas. It is clear now that even if they attempted to sail again, only one ship could be outfitted for sea, and barely at that.  
  
Nearly all the men cough up sooty snot for a day. Along with their dead, they number over twenty burnt victims. Six of them, Goodsir says, would have died if not for the cold keeping infections from festering in their wounds. They set up an infirmary tent on Erebus's deck.  
  
When they have a service for the dead, James cannot bring himself to write anything. After one hour of staring at a blank page at his desk, his clothes still smelling of smoke, he crosses the ice to Terror. On his way, he gazes at a dark clearing in the distance. Where the black-colored snow meets the ink-black sky. Where the tents were erected. Where men suffocated, burned and died.  
  
He tells Francis, "I have no apt words, Francis. And the words I have cannot be words the men ever hear."  
  
Francis officiates. He does not read from gospel, nor psalms, but asks the men to close their eyes, and think of somewhere warm and merry and true and far-out. Then to commit this image and place to memory and mind, for they would require it with them on their journey. James does not dare close his eyes.  
  
After the service, once burial is over, Francis returns to Terror. Neptune is nowhere to be found.    
  
He calls Jopson. "Is Neptune out? In this cold?"  
  
The young steward shakes his head. "He's with Captain Fitzjames, Sir. He's followed him around the past few days," he explains. "Want me to go fetch him, Sir?"  
  
Francis shakes his head, thinking. "Jopson," he asks at last. "There are some things officers do not see fit to tell each other," he says. Jopson frowns. "And there are things that stewards would share with other stewards." Jopson and he have travelled together since long now. So long that some things barely need utterance anymore. In the other man's eyes, Francis glimpses understanding already. "The next time you are on Erebus, find out how James is doing. Speak to Collins or Bridgens. Be discreet."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  


  
  
The journey they are about to start, for all its necessity and graveness, requires order like an expedition of its own. Both crews surrender themselves to the needed preparations, eager perhaps to forget all other things. Francis is consulting with Mr. Weekes, the carpenter, on whether to take some of Terror's timber to manufacture their sledges, when Jopson knocks.  
  
He brings tea and news.  
  
Francis motions for Weekes and Blanky to leave. "Yes. What did you learn?"  
  
"Mr. Collins tells me Captain Fitzjames is now on two watches per day, instead of one. From Mr. Bridgens, I learned that he has begun to show early symptoms of scurvy. And..." Jopson trails off.  
  
"What Jopson?"  
  
"Mr. Collins finds it odd, Sir, that Captain Fitzjames barely touches his food."  
  
Francis winces. "I delegated command to him. I left him with broken men and an impossible charge."  
  
"While yourself going through inhuman pain, Sir."  
  
Francis nods slowly. He knows what he owes Jopson. He knows what he owes all of them. "Well, I wonder now which one of us was in the most dire position. There is an inevitability to physical pain that is not easily found in other distresses."  
  
Jopson absentmindedly rolls a map for storage in a box. "Also Neptune seems very devoted to him, Sir. Even follows him on dog watch."  
  
  


  
When Mr. Diggle finds yet more putrid tins in the ones already boxed, Francis mutters curses under his breath. He suits up and crosses the half-mile to Erebus because he does not know quite where else to go. Because it has been almost a full week since he last saw James.  
  
Le Vesconte is on watch. He offers to let Captain Fitzjames know Francis is here. Francis declines.  
  
Below deck, Francis heads for James's cabin. He finds Neptune sleeping before it, quiet, his head on his paws, like a shepherd's dog guarding his flock. Not a noise comes from inside the cabin. The officers are resting for the night and, except for the ship's creaking and bowing, all is silent. Francis sits on the floor, beside Neptune. He unbuttons his slops, crosses his hands in his lap and waits.  


  
  
  
Francis must have slumbered some, he thinks. Neptune's low whine wakes him. A moment later, James opens the door to his cabin. He stills. "For God's sake Francis, why didn't you wake me?"  
  
Francis gets to his feet. His slops have kept some of his warmth in him, even if his feet are stone cold. He looks up at James. The younger Captain wears a thick scarf over the pale undress uniform sweater. His fingers are pale in his gloves, the bed of his nails lined with blood. "Would you have both Neptune and me pretend that you didn't need the rest?"  
  
It is one of these times when James Fitzjames seems to hesitate between pretense and truth. The regret of never having noticed these hesitations before lodges deep in Francis's chest. James chooses truth. "I don't know if there's any rest to be had."  
  
"Then, do what we all do," Francis says. "Lie on your back wondering if this is a nightmare. Your eyes closing only if you can suffer the hope of opening them again. Knowing you will find that you were not dreaming."  
  
James stares back at Francis. He looks like Francis took his soul out of his chest to hold it plainly in the palm of his hand. And Francis wonders if James has ever met someone before that he had dared to trust. Even if it was to entrust him with his despair.  
  
  


  
Francis takes James in the Command room. They light the stove and warm their hands and feet. Neptune follows them and lies down between them, his head on James's crossed ankles. Francis recounts their latest issues with the tinned foods.  
  
Collins knocks. "Sirs?" he says. He holds a plate of biscuits. "Mr. Diggle sends these up."  
  
"Thank you, Collins," Francis says. The gaze of the Second Master shifts, as if it tracked something around the room. Do they all look so estranged and ailing, Francis thinks.  
  
Francis sets the plate down. The biscuits are cold to the touch. They split them up and put them on the oven top.  
  
"Neptune has always been fond of you," Francis says after a while. Neptune has sat before them and looks up at James, adoringly. "I loathed you for that."  
  
James huffs and grins. "Because of the dog?" He slips Neptune a portion of biscuit that is at least half of his own share.  
  
Francis chuckles. "Every night on Terror, around dinner, he'd sit at the bottom of the stairs and wait," Francis retells. "Waiting to see if you'd be coming. When you did not arrive, he came to the Command room with me. Sat there-" Francis points to a corner of Erebus's Command room. "-and whined."  
  
James's grin widens. "That's my boy," he says, reaching down to scratch Neptune's ear.  
  
"Like a lost pup."  
  
The smile on James's face is a rare sight.  
  
After a while, Francis's mirth fades. "I was..." he starts. "I was a horrible man. Disheartened. And alone."  
  
"You figure yourself less alone, now?"  
  
"Oh, we are lost, that is true," Francis agrees. He turns to James. Content, Neptune has settled for a nap, resting on James's feet. "But for all I could fathom, there is no better company on this Earth."  
  
It was hard before to imagine James Fitzjames being at a loss for words. But it has often happened lately. And it happens now, when James reaches for the sleeve of Francis's shirt and bunches it tightly. "Same, Francis."  
  


  
  
Morning comes slowly, as if careful. When it is time for Francis to return to Terror, Neptune lifts his head. "No," Francis says. "You stay here."  
  
Neptune hesitates. Looks up at James who is consulting Mr. Reid's notes on the ice. Looks back at Francis.    
  
"Stay," Francis says again.  
  
Neptune ignores him and wanders about the room.  
  
"James," Francis calls, rather desperate.  
  
James pauses his reading. Then he gives a soft, easy whistle. "Here, boy. Let Francis be on his way."  
  
And just like that, Neptune trots under the Command table and sets himself down. Francis sighs.  
  
"Francis," James's voice stops him before he leaves. "Thank you. For the company."  
  
Something passes between them. Francis doesn't know if it would ever have passed if not for the ice crushing them to their deaths. For the cold eating at their skin. For the creature chasing them like prey.  
  
"No thanks needed, James."

**Author's Note:**

> On [tumblr](https://davantagedenuit.tumblr.com/).


End file.
